Inconclusive

I’ve got a project to work on for a friend; it’s a matching set of embroidery pieces, one a runner and the other a square tablecloth.  They’re both missing the same bit of embroidery; there’s an outer ring, then large elaborate leaves in the corners, then an inner ring, and on both the inner ring is missing, though printed on.

So if I’m going to complete this embroidery, I need to match the thread used.  Being a good little fiber geek, the first thing I did was burn test, from long ends that are knotted off on the back of one of the pieces.  The trouble is, the burn test is not giving me sensible results.

I got slow burning with an orange flame that self-extinguished after a few seconds, with a smell of burning paper, that left soft black ash and several seconds of ember; no melting.  The result that matches the most of that is wool or similar, but the smell is wrong and also this stuff is vastly too shiny to be wool.   The smell wants it to be rayon, but rayon is supposed to leave grey ash, not black; the ash wants it to be silk, but again it didn’t smell like burning hair.

I think I might just punt to matching looks and not caring about the actual fiber content, so there’s a trip to the needlepoint store in my future; JoAnn’s limited selection of DMC rayon floss has nothing of the right thickness or color.  Actually I fear matching all the colors may be impossible, as one is a very odd gold-olive kind of shade I’ve never encountered in embroidery floss.

If anyone has better Google skills than I do, the print on the thing is “Grayona Needlecraft Corp, No. 8186/11”.  I just need to know what kind of floss was in the original kit.

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Rain, Rain

If this weather had held off till tomorrow, we could write it off to “in like a lion”; as it is, we’re gonna have to just call it a heck of a storm.  I dropped the car off to be inspected this morning, which meant that I got to wait for the bus in the horizontal rain, near the 62nd Street Bridge where there’s no shelter.

I did have an umbrella, which means that I’m only soaked downwards of a line running from just above my right hip to about the left knee.  My tights are filthy and covered in random bits of detritus, and my skirt, which is denim, is making my legs very, very chilly.

On the other hand, it’s in the 50s out there.  It won’t last, I know, but I’m taking my good news where I can get it.